Lyrics - Pam The Fiddler (Jarratt)
From CD 'Jannock'

Awd Pam was the new schoolmaster where he came from no-one knew,
He’d vanish every winters night, to appear with the morning dew.
But as those nights grew warmer, and the leaves began to grow
Then Pam was the queerest fiddling man, that ever drew a fiddler’s bow…….

Fiddle fiddle fiddle fiddle fiddling man,Fiddle fiddle fiddle aye O
Fiddle fiddle fiddle fiddle fiddling man
Fiddle fiddle fiddle down below !!

He could fiddle the sheep to pasture, or the cows to the milkmaids pail,
the birds and the bees and the whispering trees would caper to his wail…
Some said they’d heard him fiddling at the crossroads down the way,
But the music would fall silent with the dawning of the day….

You might see him in his greatcoat, with his beard and slouchy hat,
You might chase your tail with his fiddling wail, ‘cos it sounded like a cat!
All the lasses around Threshfield would latch their windows tight,
For they swore that Pam’s fey music kept them warm all through the night!

John Pike the Parish Rector was a man with a heart of stone,
Who claimed the right to speak for God was his and his alone,
The farmers and the shepherds, when of ale they’d had their fill,
They told him him that Pams pulpit was the witch stones on the hill.

John Pike he swore a solemn oath, without and deep within,
That he would break this fiddling man, and cleanse the Dale of sin,
As he opened up the lattice of his dark and sober room,
He heard a distant fiddling in the early evening gloom.

The village it was silent as he strode on down the hill,
The sheep lowed in the pastures, the night was warm and still,
The scraping it grew louder, as he strode on through the night,
Until he saw the school house hall all bathed in candlelight,

Pike stormed in through the doorway, to face his mortal foe,
And there sat Pam the Fiddling Man a fiddling with his bow
Pam sought the open window, but Pike was strong and tall
He clenched his fists in fury and pushed Pam against the wall.

The room it fell to silence, and the fiddle ceased to sound,
As the rector cursed and raised his stick to strike Pam to the ground,
And when the rector paused for breath, poor Pam he breathed no more,
And the fiddle it lay splintered and broken on the floor.

Now some say the rector was hanged on Tyburn’s tree,
While others say he fled in fear to a distant country,
Some say in Threshfield schoolroom if at night you chance to peep,
You’ll see old Pam a fiddlin’still to a class of goats and sheep!

Jim Jarratt Sept 2004.